


The Perfect Metaphor

by helsinkibaby



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Babies, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She may be sore and tired but Darcy doesn't want to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: birth  
> Prompt: Darcy/Steve, a little girl

"You should get some sleep."

Darcy is tired, sore and a little goofy from the pain relief but that's not why she's smiling like the Cheshire Cat, or why she's refusing to go to sleep. "Nuh-uh," she says. "I don't want to miss a minute of this." 

"This" is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, a smile on his face that's partly joy, mostly wonder as he stares down at the pink-wrapped bundle in his arms. The baby stares right up at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly and as Darcy watches, a tiny fist flies up out of the blanket, like she's already learned how to fight like an Avenger. Steve laughs - a sound Darcy has long since decided she'll never get tired of hearing - and reaches out, touches the fist gently with his little finger. The baby - they're still deciding on a name - instantly reacts, curling her tiny fingers around Steve's larger one and the look in his eyes at that moment makes Darcy's breath catch in her throat. 

Well, she thinks. Isn't that just the perfect metaphor. 

She sits up with difficulty, scooches a little closer to them. He shifts to meet her halfway and she lays her head on his shoulder. "She looks like you? I think?" she wonders because while she's usually one of those "all babies look the same" type people, she thinks she should make more of an effort when it's actually her own. 

Steve shakes his head. "My dad," he says, his voice quiet. "And my grandpa's ears, I think... God help her." That's said with a laugh and she laughs too. When his eyes meet hers, though, it's not a laughing matter anymore. "I never thought I'd see anyone who looks like them again," he tells her and she wants to blame the hormones for the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. "You're my hero, you know that?"

Ducking her head, she presses a kiss to his shoulder, feels his lips against the top of her head. "And you're mine," she tells him when she can speak again and if she'd normally decry such words as cheesy and sappy, well, she'll blame that on the hormones too. 


End file.
